


Hands

by thearchangelofloki



Series: The Way You Play Me [1]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, freed's rlly gay for laxus' hands, its not established fraxus for this piece but listen i have Plans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearchangelofloki/pseuds/thearchangelofloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the man's hands, Freed thought, that kept him coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

It was the man’s hands, Freed thought, that kept him coming back. Such big, strong looking hands should not be able to glide as effortlessly across a piano as they currently were doing, notes lingering in the air of the club to form a gorgeous melody, sound reaching in all available crevasses until one had no choice but to listen to the soothing sounds. He wondered if the man’s hands were calloused, or if they were as smooth as the song he was currently playing.

He sighed, finishing the last mouthful of his drink before beckoning the bartender over for another.

He didn’t even _like_ going to clubs. There were never enough seats, it was always crowded and whenever he left he stunk of old sweat and things he’d rather not know the origin of. He hated them, if he was honest with himself, hated them with a passion, so it was somewhat of a mystery to him how he’d become something of regular customer here.

No, that was a lie. He knew exactly why he’d become a regular, so much so that at least two of the bartenders knew him by name.

The man, he’d learned, only played on Tuesday nights. It was highly inconvenient considering it was the middle of the week and Freed usually started work early Wednesday mornings, but he supposed that a full 8 hours’ sleep was a sacrifice he was willing to make in order to hear the man play.

The bartender returned with another drink, and Freed flashed her a smile as she handed over the bottle. He wasted no time in raising it to his lips and taking the first mouthful, the cool liquid refreshing in his throat. It wasn’t much of a drink – lolly water really – and in any other circumstance he wouldn’t go near the stuff, but he didn’t want to risk having a hangover the next morning.

Besides, if he was drunk he couldn’t fully appreciate sounds coming from the blonde man with the ruggedly handsome face and talented hands.

Freed looked over to the man again just as he was finishing performing one of his pieces. It was one of the last ones of the night, if he recalled correctly, the man usually only playing a few songs for the night before bowing and heading backstage, the club then filling with loud and upbeat music as the night truly began.

Freed would be gone by that point, hear nothing but the bass as he walked down the street, but it didn’t matter. He would have heard what he came to hear by then.

The man began his next song, and Freed could feel his eyes close as his head tipped back as the familiar notes sang through the air.

Of course the man was playing the very song that made him enter the establishment, all those months ago.

_Freed had not been having a good day._

_It had been a long day at work, longer than he’d usually ever willingly spend at the place, but Bickslow had asked him to help with the finishing touches on one of his projects as he was preparing to leave, and Freed still hadn’t figured out how to say no to the older man’s puppy dog eyes._

_His inability to say no had made sure that when he was_ finally _able to stumble out of the building a whole three hours later – three hours! He’d be willing to bet that he wouldn’t be getting paid for the overtime. He sighed, sometimes he hated his bosses – he was more than tired, wanting nothing more than to take the fastest root home – damn the fact that he needed milk, he was beyond exhausted. He’d just have to live with the fact that his tea would be black tomorrow morning – and collapse into bed._

_It was how he found himself walking down the dimly lit alleyway that was home to many various hole-in-the-wall cafes, restaurants, and clubs, most of them closing up for the night or just preparing to open. It was a route he normally took as it seemed to be the fastest, but he usually came down much earlier than he was currently._

_The little alley certainly held a different atmosphere from what he usually experienced. It wasn’t bad, per say, nor was it an overly good thing, it was just…different. Like the world was going to sleep and waking up all at once._

_It was enough to make him pause mid-step, to look to the stars that had made their home in the sky and simply_ breathe _._

_He could feel the tension that had accumulated throughout the day ebb away from his shoulders, and he took a moment to close his eyes, only to open them a moment later when the faint sounds of a piano reached his ears. It was soft in a way that only meant it was being played by someone and wasn’t just a simple recording, and Freed found that curiosity got the better of him – it wasn’t often that people played piano anymore after all. In a high class restaurant perhaps it was commonplace, but in a dimly lit alley that not many people knew the existence of? Unlikely – as his feet began walking towards the source of the noise, seemingly without his permission. They took him to a relatively plain looking tinted glass door, and a quick look around showed no signage out the front that could clue him into what was inside_

_It was a small place, a bar with seating lining one wall while uncomfortable looking leather booths lined the opposite one. The main floor was small, and currently dimmed, only a few people were currently occupying it, but rather than dancing they appeared to simply be mingling, each with a drink in hand, anxious for the night to truly begin._

_None of that held Freed’s attention for very long however. How could it, when his eyes were glued to the pianist?_

_The man was breathtaking. Blond hair combed back away from a gorgeous face, a few strands making their way passed their confines to rest gently against the man’s forehead. The man’s face was relaxed as he played, body gently moving with the motions of his arms, of his hands._

_And by_ god _, his hands._

_The man’s hands were masterpieces, strong looking yet smooth, fingers gliding effortlessly across the black and white keys of the instrument he was playing, as if their sole purpose in life was to play._

_He really didn’t mean to take a seat at one of the few available stools by the bar, didn’t really mean to order a drink so he could have an excuse to stay and listen to the man play._

_He didn’t really mean to stay there until his back got sore from sitting in the same spot for too long, nursing a lukewarm drink that he’d only taken a couple of sips out of._

_After the man had played his final song, had bowed and walked backstage, Freed was left in a club that was steadily changing in tempo and feel, warm bodies pressed against his own in an attempt to get to the bar. He barely remembered to leave a tip before he was heading out the door he had come through, a slight spring in his step and a smile on his face._

_He went to work on just under five hours sleep the next morning._

_He couldn’t have been happier._

He’d come into the club almost every day for 3 weeks until one of the bartenders – Mira, he’d learnt her name was – had told him that the man with the talented hands and the lightning bolt scar only played on Tuesday evenings from 7 until 9 as she handed him another drink.

He didn’t ask how she’d known who he was looking for, just like she didn’t mention the $20 tip he left curled up in the neck of the bottle he’d downed as a ‘thank you’ for the information.

Freed shook himself from the memory, only to find that the man had finished playing the song, and was in fact standing as the people applauded him as they always did. Only this time, the man didn’t head straight for the door that headed backstage.

This time, he was looking directly at Freed.

The man made a gesture with his hands, pointed to the door, and Freed had to quickly check over his shoulder to make sure it was actually him the man was gesturing at. He raised an eyebrow and he swore he saw the blond man roll his eyes, a hint of a smile on his face as he did so, before mouthing three words and walking away.

_Come with me._

Freed hopped down from his stool and threw a few notes on the counter – it was too much for the measly two drinks he’d had he was sure, but he didn’t have time to count them out nor check them, not when the man looked at him with mirth in his eyes and something else he couldn’t quite identify, something that set his heart racing – before moving to follow the blonde man through the door he’d seen him go through many times before.

 

He had a feeling he wasn’t going home for a while yet.

**Author's Note:**

> so this is more than likely becoming a series? it'll update really slowly and infrequently as a warning because i have no constant stream of motivation. soz.


End file.
